Death Is Blinding

Enjoy your life. You've only got one. You never know when your everything will come to an end.

Lights brilliantly shine in front of my eyes. Something thick and sticky suddenly splashes all over me. Dizziness creeps all through my body, and I am holding something. I lie down, and I place that object down…somewhere, and then everything goes dark again.

My head feels extremely heavy, as if someone has bashed my head against a wall. I also feel a cold rush of wind rush pass me. Where am I? My head is leaning against something hard, and something cold is touching my face. I am curled up in a ball, and shivering uncontrollably. I hear the loud rustle of the dry leaves on the ground, and another gust of wind goes by. Suddenly, something stale and metallic wafts up my nostrils, almost making me gag. I try to breath out of my mouth, trying to ignore the disgusting scent, and I discover that everything is in a sideways angle. I am still lying down. The bright, yellow light from the street lamps twinkle in front me, illuminating everything around me, causing me to close my eyes again.

As soon as consciousness returns, I unravel my body and I sit down on the cold, lonely bench. I wrap my arms around my body, and I try to keep warm. I place my cold hands on my temples, and start massaging them. I feel my temples pulsating at a fast pace, and I try to slow it down.

As I slowly rub my temples to ease my headache, I soon realize that I have just had another episode of sleepwalking. It’s ordinary, and it happens at least a couple of times a week. I am accustomed to sleepwalking, and it has brought me to many weird and odd places. In the past, it has brought me to places like my school, my friends’ homes, and even to my girlfriend’s house.

“What are doing here?” she would ask, when she found me on the porch of her house.

“Nothing,” I would respond. “I was just walking my dog,” I remember saying with embarrassment flushing my face.

But I’m not scared anymore, like I was in the past. But still curious to see where my sleepwalking has brought me this time, I quickly scan my surroundings. It is the local park. It is the kind of park that is run down. It looks as if a huge tractor has come and plowed everything down. Hidden behind the beams of bright light, dark figures stand in the shadows, waving back and forth in a rhythmic beat alongside the bone-chilling wind. Underneath the light, I see small patches of yellow and brown, depicting the grass. It looks as if someone has torched all of the grass. Jagged rocks and pebbles create the cracked path that zigzags throughout the whole park. A couple hundred feet to the right is a beat up playground for little kids to play in. It is small. There is nothing special to it.

So, the local park, I think to myself. What can’t my sleep walking do? Where could it not bring me to?

I give a shaky, half-hearted laugh to shake everything off, and I get ready to leave this old, rusty park. I would journey back to the warm comfort of my home.

But just as I am ready to leave my bench, a sudden shimmer of silver catches my eyes. I quickly turn my head over, and I focus my eyes onto the shining object. All I see is a sharp knife with thick, red blood stained on it, with its black handle facing towards me.

I stare at it, not budging, as if I this knife is alienated. Suddenly, it feels as if the air is sucked out of me with a vacuum. Without breathing, blinking or talking, I collapse onto the bench.

“It can’t be,” I whisper to myself, as if I can’t believe what is happening. “No.”

I can faintly remember the last few minutes of my sleepwalking experience. I was holding something…and something splashed onto me…something thick and sticky…? Then without hesitation, I quickly glance down at my clothes and with my hands, I quickly check my face.

“Oh my gosh…what have I done?” I gasp, asking myself with utter disbelief.

I stare into the bloody knife, and the parts where the blood hasn’t stained it, reflects back my shocked green eyes that shows my incredulity. My long brown hair waves in the wind, and my shock almost makes my face look even skinnier. The tough look that I possess makes girls go wild for me, but it wouldn’t right now. The fright in me would take all of the “toughness” away with the wind.

My face is sticky with the blood that had sprayed all over me. It is the first time tonight that I notice that my clothes are crinkled with folds, and that the red blood is clinging onto it.

Hot tears fall out of my eyes, blurring my vision. The droplets of tears dribble down my bloody cheek. The tears fall onto the knife, and it turns pink from the blood.

Through my blurry vision, I stare at my hands, without any movement. I sit there looking at my hands, as if I am a rock in the park. With these hands, I had killed somebody. The blood that was all over me and knife was the blood of somebody. That somebody had a family, probably a loving family. That somebody has also ruined my life. This person caused my own demise, just like I had handed over that person’s death tonight.

I bring my legs up to my body, and I wrap my arms around them with horror and trepidation. The person lost his family, and so would I. There is no way I can go back to my family. The look in their eyes would be a piercing knife and I wouldn’t be able to feel and bear their pain. My parents would have anger towards me, but they would still say that they love me, and that I would be okay. They would put their arms around my shoulders, and they would reassure me that everything would be just fine. But deeper into that hug, would be feelings of worry, hostility and other mixed emotions. They are only memories now.

Suddenly, the flashbacks of my brother crashes down on me. Just yesterday, my older brother and I were playing in this very park. The cool fall atmosphere surrounded us, and laughter blanketed us. We played catch with a football. Just a few hours ago, I was filled with content and I loved my life.

As we tossed the football back and forth, my brother had taught me a valuable life lesson. He was always wise, and his intelligence had landed him a spot in Harvard the following school year.

“Always live day after day, as if it’s your last,” he told me, as he threw the football to me. “You never know when it’s going to be your last day. Hey, tomorrow may be my last day. Who knows?”

“Yeah,” I would simply reply, not knowing what he possibly meant by that at the time.

But now, I clearly understand what my older brother was trying to tell me. I am experiencing his very warning right now. This is my last day. I never saw this coming, just as my brother had told me.

I take a deep breath of the cold air, and I stare at the black sky above me. Thousands of stars twinkle gaily. The one to my right is the brightest of all. The moon is standing there; nice and tall, illuminating it’s mighty power. Tonight, it is a crescent moon.

“Crescent moons symbolize new beginnings and the making of dreams into reality,” my older brother explained to me when I was working on my solar system project back in grade 5.

“Wow, thanks Jordan,” I would reply.

Under this crescent moon, I am experiencing a new beginning that would torment me for the rest of my life. I am also experiencing a dream that is turning into a reality. I would have never dreamt this to happen to me in all of my life, but it is happening.

Under my breath, I curse the moon.

I take a deep sigh, and I stand. With my stained clothes and bloody hands, I gradually make my way out of the park, with the sharp knife in my hand. My legs feel stiff, almost as if they are wood, for I had sat down for too long of a time.

I place my hands in my pockets, and I make my way to the donut shop. Dunkin Donuts is open 24 hours, and maybe a donut would help.

As I make my way towards the bright pink and blue sign, I suddenly hear the loud sirens of a cop. Right ahead of me, I see the blue and red lights flickering on and off, as it comes closer and closer. I run. I run while my face is frosting up, as the wind blasts in front of my face. I run until my legs become numb. I run past the liquor store, the candy shop, and the deli with the disgusting sandwiches. The sounds of the sirens become louder, and louder, until it rushes right past me. Then, it becomes quieter and quieter, and I can finally stop. I put my hands on my knees, and I breathe out heavily. I try to catch my breath, and realize that I am right next to my favorite 24 hour donut shop.

With my heart still racing, I enter through the door, and it makes a loud cling. All of the tables are empty, and the seats occupy no costumers. I look up to the corner of the store, and see that the news is blasted on the TV. With my eyes glued to the news, I slowly make my way up to the counter. Suddenly, breaking news catches my attention…

We have experienced some very shocking news. Just recently tonight, a murder has been committed. We are not sure who has committed it, but police are at the investigation site, figuring things out. The victim was killed in his sleep, right in his very home on 24 Victoria Avenue. The police are told from the parents that the victim’s name is Jordan Korma. His brother is missing at the moment.

The fear circulates through my body again, recharging the disbelief and the sudden shock. My legs buckle, and I think to myself, you were right Jordan. Today was your last day.

“Sir, for the last time, that is $2.50 for your donut,” says the cashier impatiently.

I dig into my pocket, and feel the sharp blade of the knife, with my brother’s blood stained on it. Instead of handing him my money, I retrieve my knife from my pocket, and hand the knife to the cashier.

“Today is my last day. I have lived my life with content and happiness, but it all comes to an end today. Please, take me up to my brother.”

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your stories are just so captivating, I'm in awe at your boldness to create characters that you can put through tragic situations without always making the end pitch perfect but rather keeping your readers guessing. Write on Jeremy!

That was a great story! Good writers have their own voice in their writing. So, when a reader is reading their story, a reader can plainly hear the authors unique voice. Your voice is plainly found in the story. Your storyline is captivating and one of a kind. Keep it up and your message is definately worth following!

I really liked it but there were a couple of points that I was confused on like, why'd he kill his brother? and what were the curcumstances of his sleepwalking? Maybe you wanted those to be kept a mystery though. Anyway, great story, nice work, keep it up!

It read in waves of interest. First you wondered what was going on (not so much in a "somebody please tell me what is happening" but in interest). Then when that was explained he finds himself covered in blood.
Deciding to go to Dunkin Donuts was was a good way to make him find out who it was that he had killed.

The last line was fabulous!

The first third was a little slow and repetitive at times (at least I thought so).
The blood turning pink on the k... (more »)

It was an interesting look at death that held me spellbound to the end. At first, though, I wasn't sure if he was contemplating suicide or sleepwalking or what, though. It could use a little more clarity on that point. And why did he kill his brother? It probably would help to not go into a lot of detail with that, but a little info on something between the two boys might add to the story. Anyway, it was intense and good. Great job!

That was really good! It sounds like one of my mom's murder mystery books. I think you could be the next James Patterson. That reminded me a lot of the character Davis Bloom on Smallville. I like the message your story had. Keep up the writing :)